


Best Laid Plans of a Bat.

by BatShitCrazy



Series: The Soul Bond Series [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Apartment Demolition, Bat Plans™, Blow Job, Kryptonite, M/M, Passing Out, Rimming, SuperBat, Voyeurism, multiple orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatShitCrazy/pseuds/BatShitCrazy
Summary: Follow up Lucid Dreaming for LilysBooks.The Bat has plans for Payback.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long.
> 
> I'm still not sure I'm happy with it either, but it's driving me a little Batty!
> 
> I still have one more follow up to write.
> 
> And I notice I've neglected that disclaimer thingy everyone writes on their work.  
> So....  
> Disclaimer!  
> I don't own Superman or Batman or Alfred.  
> If I did, I'd share them with you all.
> 
> Also, there is no specific continuity in mind. Just put this in your favourite, with whichever actors you prefer.
> 
> I hope you like :)
> 
> *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bruce stalks into the cave, Alfred follows close on his heels.  
"Master Bruce, are you sure?" He asks worriedly  
Bruce whirls, narrows his eyes and nods decisively.  
Bruce continues Walking towards the vault, Alfred just sighs and turns back to the manor upstairs.  
"God forbid you would have a normal relationship with anyone" he mutters  
Bruce smirks

 

Alfred has been notoriously silent during the drive to the airport, occasionally glancing in the mirror. He had worried for his young charge when he first saw him this morning but now, he's pondering whether to call Clark Kent and warn the man. As they pull up to the private jet with the Wayne Enterprises logo on the side, he glimpses a large bite mark on Bruce's neck. No, he won't call Mister Kent.  
This time Alfred smirks.

 

Clark Kent sits at his desk at the Daily Planet. He's feeling a combination of guilt, intense satisfaction and some small degree of terror. Bruce might just kill him for his actions in the early hours of this morning!  
His face heats up as he shifts awkwardly, his pants are getting tight where he's getting hard again just from the memory.  
He'd only intended to check on his favourite Bat after a night of monitor duty, but seeing him through his bedroom window leave the shower to slump on his bed, naked, had triggered a primal response like nothing he's ever experienced before.  
"Dang it" he whispers to himself.  
Now he's fully hard in his pants and he's stuck at work.  
He sighs, trying to will away his inappropriate workplace erection while wondering how he will ever be able to look Bruce in the eye again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~* The Continuation *~*~*~*~*~*

As Clark enters his apartment, he sees Bruce sitting in the big chair by the window in the living room.  
The rays of the late afternoon sun outline his perfectly styled hair.  
He's wearing a simple white business shirt, the top 2 buttons undone, and charcoal pants.  
Not the Batsuit that Clark had secretly hoped for.

"Bruce, what a pleasant surprise" he says dropping his keys and mail on the kitchen counter. "What brings you to Metropolis?"

Bruce doesn't reply, doesn't squirm in his seat, although it almost hurts him to sit like this. It's all about the drama, of atmosphere, something the Bat specialises in.

"Can I get you anything?" Clark asks while grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge.  
Bruce narrows his eyes.

Clark cracks the coke and takes a swig straight from the can, while using his X-ray vision to look over at Bruce. The blankness of a lead box sitting on the arm of the chair explains the small twitch of his lips.

"You seem awfully quiet Bruce" Clark continues his one sided conversation

 

Surprisingly Bruce answers him "having a little trouble with my voice today" he rasps. Clark has a moment of guilt. the dark bruise around Bruce's neck contrasts against the stark white shirt, it's the exact shape of his hand. It makes his cock twitch.

"I think you know why Clark" he continues

 

"Is that why you brought the kryptonite?" Clark asks looking into the steely eyes.

Bruce smirks. Then there's a predatory smile, all teeth.

Clark knows that can't be good, so before anything can happen, before anything can get out of control, he uses his super speed to snatch the lead box and is back in his kitchen in an instant. Clark turns from putting the kryptonite in his freezer and sees Bruce scowl. The smile has vanished and his lips are pressed together in a hard line.

"You didn't think I'd just let you sit there with kryptonite, did you?" He asks innocently.  
Clark can hear Bruce grind his teeth together.  
Bruce still has not moved but he knows his removal of the kryptonite was unexpected.

Clark removes his glasses and places them carefully on the countertop next to his opened tin of soda, then he walks slowly towards Bruce.

"Payback Bruce?" He asks, still maintaining his relaxed innocent tone.

As Clark approaches the seated man, he leans forward to trap Bruce's hands onto the arms of the chair.  
And he crushes his lips onto Bruce's in a fierce kiss.

 

Mouths smash together, Bruce is trying to keep his brain from short circuiting. Clark has soft wet lips and his talented tongue dips, twists and thrusts. Bruce subconsciously opens his mouth for more.

 

Bruce's lips are responding to his own.  
Kissing Bruce Wayne is like trying to hold on to a tornado.  
His teeth clash, his tongue moves and swirls, his head tilts for better access and Clark can't resist. He moans into that mouth.  
"God, Bruce" he mumbles, breaking away only enough to rest their foreheads together, they're both panting.

 

Bruce's plan has gone out the window with the loss of his kryptonite. Unusually, he didn't have a contingency for this. He had expected guilt and contrition from the Kansas raised hero. Not this confident, dominant Clark.

He had come to Metropolis with plans of payback, only thinking of sweet revenge, he had acted impulsively!  
Now he was trying to think fast, he needed to get to the kryptonite in the freezer. Only a few meters away in Clark's small apartment.  
Clark seemed to have other ideas because he was currently pinned, and his mouth had been invaded by delicious wet heat.

 

Clark stands, loosens his tie and undoes a few bottons at the top of his polyester shirt.  
Bruce narrows his eyes.  
Loosening his belt, popping the button, Clark is then unzipping his pants slowly. He pulls out his cock; it’s already leaking from the tip.  
"What did you have planned Bruce?" 

He starts to stroke it and Bruce can’t look away. 

 

Bruce watches that big fist move up and down, harder and faster. All brain activity has stuttered to a halt. Clark groans and Bruce's breath is knocked out of his body as the sight before him draws his full attention.  
Bruce knows Clark is distracting him. His hands haven't moved from where they were held down. 

 

"Would you put my cock in your mouth?" the voice is husky.

 

Bruce's fingers twitch as he resists reaching out to sweep against the drops of precome forming on the head of Clark's dick. He knows he wants to taste it. He licks his lips in anticipation.

Instead Clark drops to the floor between his knees.  
He looks at Bruce through hooded eyes, gazes lock.  
Bruce swallows, his Adam's apple bobs noticeably.  
Clark slides his hands up over the ever so trembling thighs.

 

"Would you have put me on my knees? Forced me to kneel before you"  
Clark hears the heart stutter, the nearly silent intake of breath, the slight tip of Bruce's body towards him, steel blue eyes watching. 

Clark leans forward to press his face into the clothed groin and takes a deep breath through his nose. The heady scent of freshly ironed pants, laundry detergent clinging to the material, the soap Bruce used to shower with washes over his senses.

Underlying that is the man himself, and arousal, a musky heat radiating from his hard cock. The undeniable twitch of the flesh under the thin layers makes Clark smile.  
He places his lips over the visible length and exhales, he makes his breath hot, not cold, through the clothes Bruce is wearing.

"Would you make me suck you?"  
Lips speak so firmly against the fabric, Bruce can feel them move on himself.  
Teeth graze, wanting to rip the impediments away that seperate them.

 

Bruce throws his head back against the chair, the fingers of one hand want to drift through Clark's hair, want to press that face onto himself.

Hips shudder as Clark leans just a little further forward before undoing the belt with only his teeth and tongue.  
Watching transfixed, he bites his bottom lip to stop the moan rising in his chest.

Clark's fingers trail from strong thighs, up his abdominals to reach the buttons of the expensive shirt draped over Bruce.

And as if Bruce knows what he is thinking, of course he knows, he smirks at Clark.  
"If you pull one thread Clark, you'll have to deal with Alfred"

 

Clark smiles as he delicately undoes each button, and tugs the shirt out of the waistband of the trousers, being careful not to tear the fabric.  
"We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Clark sits up a little more to nip at the slowly exposed flesh. Goosebumps form across the expanse of skin as the shirt is pushed back further, searing tongue slides across a raised nipple.  
Low growls emit from the throat of the man under him as he moves to the other nipple, biting firmly on the hard nub. 

 

Bruce's fingers flex, his stubborn lips are firmly pressed together, as if he thought Clark couldn't hear the subvocalisation threatening to spill out. 

 

Slowly, Clark works his way down that broad chest, the licking, nuzzling, kissing and biting, getting more frantic as he gets lower. Bruce's hips are twitching, trying to restrain from thrusting up towards Clark's descending mouth.  
The heat on his skin almost burning, he gasps at several hard bites before the velvet tongue licks over the teeth marks.

Clark's hands almost fumble to completely undo Bruce's pants, barely avoiding tearing the clasps. There's no denying Bruce wants this as he gasps, pants and even small moans slip from behind those lips.  
Hard chest glistening in the falling natural light outside, the play of muscles that flex under Clark's touch speak more than words ever could.  
Clark thinks he could be in heaven right now.

His hand pushes the waistband of black silk boxers down behind Bruce's balls, and the pinching elastic only adds to Bruce's sensitivity as Clark strokes them.

Nuzzling the swollen cock against his lips, rubbing it against his cheeks, the hard cock leaving sticky wet trails across his face, Clark groans loudly against the engorged length.

 

As soon as Clark's mouth opens, Bruce's hips buck, his breath hitches as they flex upwards and suddenly his cock is inside the hot mouth.  
He can't stop as he is surrounded by sublime heat.  
The billionaire bit into his bottom lip and a coiled knot made itself known in Bruce’s stomach, threatening to break, eyes squeezed tightly shut, with all his practiced control, he can't stop from surging forward.

 

A salty taste fills Clark's senses.  
When the tip of Bruce's cock hit the back of his throat, he sucks so hard that it threatens to pull the building orgasm from the base Bruce's spine.  
Bruce grabbed the back of Clark's head with one hand, the other still on the arm of the chair. His hair is pulled back, trying to force his head up and down. 

 

Bruce is desperate for some control, desperate for the tight wetness of Clark's lips stretched around his girth, desperate to push in harder. 

 

Clark can let him think he's in control, for now.  
Hollowed cheeks suck until Bruce's thighs shake, the hand in his hair spasms, short breaths fill the empty spaces in the air, before Clark pulls off completely.

 

Bruce gives him the dirtiest look before leaning down to take his mouth in a passionate, uncontrolled kiss. They are both grunting and panting as the hand in Clark's hair slips down to the back of his neck, the other moving to grip his shoulder, pulling him in. It's all filthy, open mouthed, and Clark can't get enough. Blood rushes through his body, his senses heightening, slick tongues wrestle and bodies press together with urgency.  
It feels like drowning in the best way imaginable. 

 

Bruce's hands slip down to rip open his shirt, buttons flying indiscriminately.  
"Hey" Clark says "I like this shirt"  
"Shut up" Bruce growls as he takes Clark's mouth again.

Bruce knows he needs to distract Clark before he can risk moving, doing anything, but he's the one getting distracted by all this inhuman heat and hard muscle rippling on him.  
Bruce tries to ignore Clark's attempts to change the game.  
His mind starts racing, how can he regain control of this situation. 

 

Clark sees Bruce's eyes flicker towards the kitchen.  
He breaks the kiss, pulls easily away from the hold on him and sits back on his feet to look at the man, all signs of Bruce are gone. This is Batman now. A Batman that had come here with a plan, and it's not working the way he had wanted.

"Still with me Batman, or more focussed on my white goods"  
The only response is a glare.  
"That look Bruce" Clark huffs

Clark removes his ruined shirt and tie. Looking at the tie resting in his hands gives Clark an idea. Grasping it in both hands, Clark drops his own tie over Bruce's head. He uses it to pull Bruce's face towards him and snatches those lips under his own. 

 

Bruce tries to bite at his lips as Clark moans against him. The moan does things to Bruce. He needs to regain focus and find a way to escape from where he's trapped in this damned chair.  
He wants his kryptonite.  
He's actively trying to shove Clark away from him now. There was a reason he chose to forego a tie today, a hand shaped reason. 

Bruce can't move his head back because of the fucking tie. He clenches his hands into frustrated fists, he's pulling and pushing, using Clark's shoulders to try to leverage his way out. It's not working. His knuckles are white as a fury builds inside him. He's frustrated and being toyed with, unacceptable.

 

Bruce's body seems to flex, and instead of pulling back towards the chair, he pushes his upper body forward. At the same time his legs bend, he kicks off the chair, with the crack of splintering wood, causing it to go crashing into the corner. His whole body twists upwards so that he is pivoting in an aerial manoeuvre that throws Clark's balance for just a moment. 

 

Clark releases the tie before he inadvertently strangles Bruce, his hands reach for the shoulders of the Bat, but all he gets is the fabric of the shirt tearing away. 

 

Bruce's hands push off Clark harder, he somersaults to land halfway towards the kitchen.  
He's moving before his weight has fully hit the floor. Diving forwards towards the kitchen counter, one hand lands next to the forgotten Coke and he's throwing himself onto the other side.  
Lifting his other hand to the handle he yanks at the freezer, but before the door can open more than a few centimetres, a large hand slams onto the flat white surface and an arm wraps around his waist, trapping his arm, pulling him back against the hard heated body that presses against his back and ass.

A laughing breathy voice next to his ear says "Batman". The hand from the front of the door grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away from the handle and pulls it up against his own chest.

Bruce tries to kick off, pushing back towards Clark, his feet are on the door of the freezer now and he tries to hook the toe of his shoe into the handle but wearing expensive leather shoes that just slip down against the appliance prove useless.  
The shoe comes off his foot and falls to the floor with a loud thunk.

Before he can try to twist again, his trousers choose that moment to fall from his hips, pooling around his ankles. Clark laughs as he growls. Bruce kicks the annoying pants from his feet but before he can do anything else, Clark has floated them up towards the ceiling. Bruce lets his body go lax, conserving energy, looking around him for another opportunity. Maybe he can try the ceiling he thinks to himself.

 

"So dangerous, so flexible, so cunning" Clark whispers into his ear. 

Bruce leans his head back onto Clark's shoulder and sighs "so close"

Clark just laughs.  
Bruce scowls.

 

They float back towards the living room when Bruce's dangling foot knocks the can of Coke, spilling its contents over the mail and glasses on the kitchen counter.

Clark groans unhappily.  
"That was unnecessary"  
"And yet satisfying" Bruce is smirking  
"Naughty Bat" Clark admonishes.

The hand from his wrist slides up to the tie still around Bruce's neck.

He uses one hand to loosen it enough to lift the loop up onto Bruce's face.  
Bruce clamps his lips together, shakes his head, growls menacingly, and Clark laughs softly "I'm not going to gag you, I enjoy kissing those lips too much"  
The grip shifts from the tie to turn Bruce's head into another kiss.

Then loop of material returns to slide up Bruce's face, slowly over the aristocratic nose until it rests over angry eyes. Clark twists until the knot is behind Bruce's head, then pulls on the end to tighten it, blindfolding the bat beneath him.

 

Bruce is growling, trying to move his head in an attempt to dislodge his blindfold, reaching to remove it but Clark just pulls the hand away.

 

"Naughty Bats get to be punished" Clark says quietly

 

Bruce begins to worry now. The all American Boy Scout is getting devious. What happened to his plan? This was meant to be his payback! Dammit he growls internally.

They are still floating but Bruce can tell they're moving further into the room, away from his kryptonite.

They don't float much longer and then he's standing on the floor, one foot still wearing a sock, the other wearing his expensive leather shoe. He thinks it must look ridiculous with his pieces of ripped shirt hanging from his torso and his boxers rucked up behind his nuts.  
Clark's hands roam his body, pushing down his hands whenever he begins to lift from where they appear to be dangling uselessly at his sides. He feels Clark press against him, moving him forward a little every time his hips nudge up behind him.

Bruce knows they're back near where he was originally seated when Clark came home. He's not disoriented enough by the blindfold to not know where he is in the room.  
Preparing himself to make another move when he figures Clark will put the damned chair back after it went skidding away, when he made his break towards the kitchen, he waits 

Clark's hands are so warm, and his body is responding. He's more than half hard as fingers start a slow slide up and down his length. Remembering the pleasure from his not-dream, he moves his hips, back onto Clark's thickness and forwards into his grip. 

Bruce knows that Clark knows he's trying to distract him again. His brain is doing loops trying to figure a way around his predicament but Clark's hands are on him leaving trails of sensation in their wake. Clark has been nipping the back of his neck, licking that spot below his ear that makes everything fizzy.  
Fuck, he needs to get his shit together or just stop fighting, give in to the pleasure that is rippling through him. He can't, he won't, when suddenly there's something cold and hard pressed against the front of his body. 

 

Clark's breath gusts past his ear "do you know that you're pressed up against my window Bruce? People on the streets below could glance up and they would see you, in my hands, your cock hard and dripping. Do you think they would recognise you, even with the blindfold?"

 

Bruce's hips stop, he tries to pull away from the chill across his chest, but there's an immovable wall of heated kryptonian muscle making it impossible.  
Bruce hisses "you wouldn't"

 

"Wouldn't I Bruce?" Clark licks his ear, and slowly moves his hand off his straining dick. Bruce inhales sharply.

 

Bruce's hands move to the cool flatness he's pressed against, feeling the smooth texture.

 

Clark's hand moves straight from sliding up his abs, to along the side of his ribs, coming to rest over the handprint marking his throat, pressing against the existing bruises.  
Bruce swallows and as much as he wants to press his fingers into that neck to still the tension building, he doesn't.  
Clark then puts his palm across his forehead, as if he was checking his temperature.  
Then the hand twitches enough to lift the blindfold from one eye.

 

It takes Bruce a moment for his dilated pupil to adjust. 

He sucks in another breath as his vision adapts enough to see Clark was telling the truth. They are pressed against the large window of the living room. Cars pass below them and thankfully there are few people on the side walk. 

Clark pulls his head back, pressing him fully against the glass, his cock is leaking against the cold glass.

"Clark" Bruce hisses "don't"

Clark laughs and presses his erection into the cleft his backside.  
"I can't afford a big luxurious high rise Bruce. A single glance and someone will see you, naked and panting. On display, but not for them to have, all for me" 

 

Bruce tenses up, the hands on the glass forming into fists. A growl from low in his throat, he is exposed in a way the Bat isn't comfortable with. 

 

Clark grinds against him harder making Bruce wonder for a moment if the glass will shatter.  
His body shivers, the cold in front and heat behind him. He tries to wriggle but only succeeds in making squealing noises against the window pane with his slick skin.  
"Oh, advertising now Bruce? Do you want them to look?" Clark laughs again.  


 

Clark moves his hand from Bruce's head to the glass where Bruce can see it. He claws his hand so that the nails rest against the window.

 

"No" Bruce says quickly "No I don't want anyone to see"

 

"Beg" Clark whispers as he drags his nails slowly, gouging grooves into the glass with a deafening shriek.

 

Bruce can see heads beginning to turn, to look around them for the noise.  
The sound is making him cringe and his teeth vibrate, but Clark stops.  
No one has looked up towards the apartment, yet. Clark's hand hasn't moved further but his hips continue to grind, pushing Bruce's whole pelvis against the clear view from below.  
"Clark.......please?" he rasps

 

Clark slid both hands down to Bruce's hips and held him pressed against the glass while he ground into him. Slipping his hands inside the boxers Bruce was still wearing, he pulls them down roughly.

 

Bruce felt the silk give way, falling away from him and fluttering to the floor.  
Clark's hands started caressing his ass cheeks, spreading him wide and sliding that thick cock up his crack. Bruce tried not to shiver as the side of his face pressed against the glass. 

Bruce wasn't sure if he should resign himself to the inevitable, or wonder where this dark side of Clark, of Superman, had come from.

He knew he wasn't getting to his kryptonite again, well at least not until he got away from this damned window. He could feel Clark's trouser clad knees, working with those strong hands to drive him crazy, to drive his legs apart.  
Lips suck and bite down his spine, sending sparks along its length. Those maddening lips, exploring his scarred back, descend lower and Clark drops to his knees for the second time.

Hands descend further, press between his thighs and start to spread his legs.  
He inhaled sharply when his feet left the ground and Clark's hands slid to behind his knees, forcing him into a precarious position, as if he were doing the splits. 

Splayed in that forceful grip, his heart began to pound and he was sliding upwards, the glass pressing against his face, chest, stomach, pelvis and cock. His hands reached to grasp at anything, but they just scrabbled uselessly.

Clark wasn't just moving him, he kept lifting him, skin dragging as he was taken higher and higher by that immeasurable strength.  
He briefly thought about flipping backwards and must have flexed his knees because Clark changed his grip, holding him tightly, as if he were a weight bar. His eyes widened as he felt the back of his thighs pass Clark's broad shoulders, and a sharp bite on his butt cheek. 

"What the fu..." was all that he managed to croak out before he felt heat and moisture in the open crack of his ass. That skilful tongue that had been invading his mouth earlier was lapping at his entrance, making Bruce's body twitch.  
The blood started pooling heavily in his groin and before he could take a deep breath through his nose, his ring of muscles was breached making him arch. He moaned against the glass, his exhale making a momentary fog as he tried to catch his breath. 

The corn fed reporter, the man of steel, the man he had thought about but avoided more than friendship with, was going to rim him while he was plastered against his window; and Bruce couldn't stop him.

 

Clark slurped and sucked, occasionally nibbled, and thrust against the spasming hole. He could hear Bruce's incoherent noises as the man, helpless against his onslaught, let go. Muscles flexed as he minutely thrust back against Clark's face, and Clark smirked. 

 

Bruce's toes curled as the burn delved deeper. Clark's tongue was alternately hard and soft as he pushed inside. The heat was incredible. Bruce was still sore from the early morning fucking he had gotten and could have sworn he was being scorched inside his hole. It flexed and fluttered under the merciless rimming Clark was dishing out.

Glass smooth against the billionaire’s face, his eyes screwed shut, he couldn't concentrate on anything. The burning invasion, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled so forcibly.

His cock throbbed, God he was so hard! His legs were held in the forced splits, completely wide open, thigh muscles grasped in that immovable grip.  
Clark's tongue twisted in ways no human tongue could, and Bruce's moans were getting louder. 

The slick of sweat made it possible for Clark to simply slide him up and down on the glass and Bruce's whole body was shuddering now. His panting was loud in his ears as he was moved wherever Clark wanted him. He could feel the fiery heat all the way up his spine, and his dick throbbed in time with Clark's thrusts, getting very little friction now that his hard on had slicked the clear glass. 

Everything was twitching now, Bruce wasn't sure he could maintain his balance for long. Sharp spikes of pleasure shot through his balls and he knew he was going to come. 

 

Clark felt Bruce's entire body tense when he vibrated his tongue, against the prostrate he could get to. His whole face was buried between those clenching firm cheeks. Filthy noises were drowned out.

 

“God…Oh god…GOD!” Bruce nearly screamed, he slammed his fists on the window glass, needing to brace himself with both hands. Liquid fire reamed the inside his ass.

 

As Clark pressed his nose in against the flesh, his mouth opened wide and his lips moved on whatever skin it came in contact with. His chin pressed up behind Bruce's balls added more pleasure.

He felt and heard the change in Bruce's blood flow, he knew the man was going to orgasm. It made his own cock leak when he knew Bruce would come from his tongue alone.

 

When Clark vibrated his tongue it made Bruce cry out, not caring if anyone was watching below them, he came hard against the window.

 

Clark held onto Bruce when the semen was almost forced from his body but he wasn't going to stop. Oh god he was enjoying himself. 

 

Bruce was panting, his mind had shattered, and yet Clark didn't stop. The pressure was too much and Bruce was whimpering uncontrollably. His muscles were bunched as he scrambled to move away from the vibrations that were ripping through him. One of his hands got the curtain rail, he grabbed desperately to pull his body away from the over stimulation but ripped the railing from its moorings, sending it crashing behind them. He was arched back over Clark's head now, shaking uncontrollably.

 

Clark kept the pressure inside that delicious hole, kept vibrating his tongue even after Bruce was trying to get away from it. 

 

Bruce's vision was whiting out completely, his incoherent begging for Clark to stop went unheeded. Without any warning from his body, he came again. A small dribble added itself to the mess that his groin was pressed up against.

He shouted and lost control of everything, his body now slumped as his consciousness left him completely.

 

Clark felt the spasm of Bruce's second orgasm so close to the first, felt the man above him turn to jelly and had to move at super speed to catch the scarred body as the Bruce passed out. 

 

He let them both sink to the floor, his hand brushing back sweaty bangs before removing the tie that had moved on the handsome face.  
He curled the man into his lap, kissing the forehead tenderly. His own erection still pressed at the body he was cradling but he wasn't going to fuck Bruce while he was unconscious. He grinned to himself when he thought that he'd nearly done that exact thing in the early hours of the morning.

Just as Clark is preparing to move them both into his tiny bathroom to clean up the amazing Bat, his communicator pings.  
It's a distress call, and the Justice League has asked for his help. Clark becomes Superman in less than a second. Before he leaves, he carefully places Bruce on his couch, speed cleans him with a towel from the bathroom, and grabs a glass of water to put near the still unconscious man. A quick check of his vitals tells Clark he is deeply asleep. After covering him with a warm blanket, he stares at the softened features. A brush of lips against his forehead before stepping away, he takes off.  
Enroute to the emergency, Clark can't help but hope that the sleeping form will still be there when he returns.

 

Bruce woke suddenly, sitting bolt upright with a startled gasp. Momentarily disorientation gives way to the knowledge he is alone. For some unknown reason, this disappoints him until he remembers where he is, and what exactly had happened.  
A scowl settles on his features.  
"Fuck" he mutters  
Seeing the glass of water, he lashes out, sending it crashing into the opposite wall.

Sitting up proves a little challenging, muscles wrung out and protesting.  
Stalking through the apartment, he recovers his clothes, though their condition reflects their rough handling. The shirt is a write off. Pants are a rumpled ball in the kitchen. He slips on his shoe, noting that he had continued to wear the other during Events. Slamming the door open on the unseen bedroom, a rummage in the closet nets a plain white shirt that fits, sort of.  
His jacket was still hung on the hook near the front door. After retrieving his phone, he checks for messages.  
One from Alfred. A groan escapes his lips as he thinks of the reprimand he will receive for going off half cocked. The pun, although terrible, makes his lips twitch before he remembers he is supposed to furious.

A stop in the kitchen nets him the kryptonite from the freezer. The big blue not-so-boyscout left it behind. Good!  
Taking a look around before leaving shows the apartment to be a demolition site.  
This time, a huge toothy grin flashes as he begins taking pictures of the devastation with his phone.  
The kitchen counter with its sticky, Coke soaked mail and glasses.  
That fucking chair in the corner, with one arm hanging on by fabric alone, bent and twisted front legs, on it's broken back.  
The curtains and railing laying across the floor, and the smeared, hazy mess of the window itself, grooves gouged into the surface.  
Finally, he takes a picture of the lead lined box, in his hand, in front of the freezer that has a very obvious handprint outlined on the white door.

"This isn't over Kent" as he slams the door upon exit.

Mind racing, better plans forming, he takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair before striding out of the building.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*


End file.
